


Roll For Reaction

by M0use



Series: Geeks In Love [1]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Not Related, Chubby Gerard Way, Dorks in Love, Dungeons & Dragons 4th Edition, Geeks, High Fantasy, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Instability, Not!Fic, One-Sided Attraction, Purple Prose, Sexual Fantasy, The Author Regrets Nothing, nerds, or not idk what edition it is they're playing. only that it is ADVANCED., sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 19:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1699919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M0use/pseuds/M0use
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day Gerard gave Mikey a drawing of his character (Picard) and their campaign's resident NPC (Titania) kissing each other, and it all went downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part The First: Two Gifts and a Boon

**Author's Note:**

> this first had life in a spiral notebook with 'star wars notes' scribbled out on the cover. well it was spiral anyway. finally decided to share it in the hopes that it could cause some smiles/squee.  
> the particular brand of not!fic here is "wrote it all out but can't be goddamned to edit it anymore even though the pacing's off and the tenses bounce around and other stuff is weird". keep that in mind and read responsibly. 
> 
> this story is of course based on the 2007 hit ['My Chemical Romance plays Dungeons and Dragons part II'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=905gtHXXZ-Q) made by girlitiffany, which in turn was based on ['D&D With MCR' ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=krQND2ztW_U) by insertwithere. our history, our heritage.
> 
> god bless all DnD nerds, in bandom and out; may your mountain dew be plentiiful and your darkness attack-worthy. god bless all AMV and almost-AMV makers everywhere.

//

 

Titania wasn’t _Mikey’s character_. It was just that he had to send NPC’s along with the guys sometimes, to tell them the right way through the Unending Caves, or which part of the Queen of Spiders` palace had the dungeons and which parts had the treasure. Granted, those sorts of quests usually ended with Titania _in_ the dungeons, but that just proved again that she wasn’t his character because Mikey would never be that stupid.

So it wasn’t awkward at all (or worse, flirty) when Gee came up to him about a week and a half after The Sarah Incident and gave him a drawing to look at. A drawing that Gerard had done of Picard the Elven Ranger and Titania the non-player Night Elf. Together.  
Kissing, in fact.

“I got bored in math.” Gerard shrugged, flicking a piece of greasy brown hair out of his eyes. “Do you like it?”  
“It’s awesome,” Mikey replied immediately. He pushed his glasses up his nose and brought the paper closer to his face. It _was_ awesome. Most of the lines that made up the character’s limbs were sharp slashes and their hair was detailed but also scribbled over so it was almost black. The only curves were in their faces (and Titania’s tits which were pressed against Picard’s thin but obviously muscular, really well shaded, chest). Both of the warriors had their eyes closed; Picard looked like he might have been blushing. Some wispy lines on the edge of the page suggested that they were leaning against a tree. The amount of colour value Gerard had gotten from blue and black pens was pretty impressive, and his anatomy was good, like, _Spiderman_ good.    
Mikey told him so and Gee grinned. “You think so? Seriously?”  
“Oh, totally,” Mikey replied. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “After you get out of here you should like, send one of these into Marvel or something.”  
Gerard’s smile widened, and he pulled himself deeper into his winter coat like a turtle. “That's so sweet of you to say, man,” he said.  
Mikey nodded and held the piece of paper out to him.  
Gerard stepped back and shook his head, smiling a tiny bit. “No, it’s for you, dude. That’s why I brought it to you.”  
“Oh,” Mikey replied, surprised. “Hey. Thanks.”  
Gerard nodded at him, a couple of his teeth sticking out from under his lip as he grinned. Then the bell rang so he had to go off to Bio.

Mikey stood in front of his locker for a second looking at the drawing. His stomach churned weirdly; digesting the Cheetos he’d had for breakfast that day, probably. (Well. Breakfast and lunch. Plus some soda.) It was a well-rendered gift from his friend, that was all.

He stuck the drawing in his binder and walked to English.

-**-

 

Over the next two weeks, things were pretty much normal. Mikey got up, ate, washed the dishes, kissed his mom goodbye when she got up, walked to school, walked back, got the bus to work, went home again. He stayed up late writing up battle stats for the half-rotted corpses that the guys would have to fight the next game, plus all the side-quests that could come up, and what would happen if the guys went down them, and descriptions of random characters and everything. He decided one night, around his third Tang run from his room to the kitchen, that if he heard someone say that writing wasn’t hard ever again he would punch them in the face.  He was planning everything a bit in advance; the guys hadn’t even left the last village yet. But it was good to be prepared for quests way before they happened in-game. Mikey had learned that lesson a long time ago. The one he was working on was a good one--- rescuing the totally hot Princess Juanna from her wickedly enchanted castle. If she liked you enough she would marry you when she was freed. Nightblade was pretty ramped up about that but Mikey didn’t intend on making the rescue easy.  
He’d thought about keeping Titania out of this one, partly because he didn’t remember what she was supposed to look like, having lost her stat sheet after the last game, and partly because she’d only slow them down. But then he remembered how hopeless Gulstaff still was (especially with fire elementals and oh _shit_ were there fire elementals), so he decided what the hell. It would be good for them to have someone to rescue on their way to the princess, anyway. Since he’d lost her character sheet he decided to work off of Gerard’s drawing. Mikey tacked it up on the corkboard in his room. He would have cut her out of the picture and just went off that, but it really was a good drawing, and it had been a gift (from a friend). So he left them both up, kissing amid his B+ tests and diagrams of Middle Earth and monster data sheets and pasted comic panels. They fit pretty well there.

He didn’t think it was weird, because it just so obviously _wasn’t weird._ Friends give each other stuff all the time. It didn’t mean they were queer, or whatever, it just meant that they were friends. Mikey would be adamant about this to himself if he actually thought about it, but he never really _had._

  
Then Frank and Ray stampeded into his room one Saturday morning without any warning or tact.  
Mikey was practically still asleep when Frank took a goddamn running jump onto the end of his mattress. “Rise and shine, Mikes!” The energetic bastard said happily.  
He jumped, despite himself, and almost hit his head on the side of his desk when he fell off the bed. “What the _fuck,_ ” he yelped, grabbing a pair of pyjama pants from the floor and pressing them protectively against his brief-clad hips. “I’m not decent!”  
“Whatever, dude, we’ve already seen your tits,” Frank snickered from Mikey's bed. He leaned his head off the side and grinned at Mikey, upside-down.  
Ray laughed too. He was standing just inside the door with his hands in his coat pockets, taking up too much space as usual. The two of them looked like they might have walked over here.  
“The hell are you two dorks doing in my room?” Mikey demanded, pulling on the pyjamas as fast as he could. They were striped patterned, and a little rank, but at least they weren’t stained or anything. He stood up and crossed his arms, glaring at their blurry faces. He knew he was being kind of an asshole, but it was Saturday. And he hadn't had his coffee yet. “Jesus, what time is it?”  
“Your mom let us in,” Ray said, semi-apologetically. “We didn’t wake her up or anything, she answered the door in like, five seconds after we knocked.”

Mikey paused for a second to assimilate this information, then stomped out his bedroom door to the edge of the staircase. He blinked a few times to help his eyes adjust to the sun coming through the window at the end of the hall. “Mom?” He called down.  
She appeared at the bottom of the stairs, wearing day clothes. “Hey sweetie,” she said warmly.  
Mikey smiled, a little nervously. “Hey, uh. Frank and Ray came over, and stuff.”  
“I know. I let them in.”  
“Oh.” His shoulders relaxed. “Okay. I just wanted to make sure the door wasn’t unlocked—or, or that they woke you up, or anything.”  
His mother shook her head. “Nothing like it, honey. I’ve got pancakes down here if you teenagers want some later.”  
“Oh. Uh, cool, thank you.”  
“No problem. But for God's sake put on your glasses, you’re gonna get wrinkles like me if you keep up that squinting.” She shook her head again and then was gone around the corner. The floor creaked on the way to the kitchen.  
Mikey actually could smell pancakes, now that his senses were starting to function. He tried to count how long it had been since his mom had been up this early, let alone cooked, but then gave up. 

Instead he walked back into his room and flicked on the light. “You guys are lucky this time.”  
Ray’s vague form was sitting on his bed. “Hey, squinty. Catch.”   
Mikey caught the thing that was tossed to him reflexively; realizing they were his glasses, he pushed them onto his face.  
Abruptly everything came into focus, including Frank rummaging through the stuff on top of his desk. “What the _fuck_ , man,” Mikey said for the second time that morning. He stalked over and grabbed the blue binder out of Frank’s hands. “Hands fucking off DM property.”  
His friend shrugged and stepped backward, palms out. “Just wondering what kind of shit you have plans for us and that sweet lady Juanna,” he said, grinning. “That’s all.”  
“Go jerk it or something,” Mikey snapped. He carefully re-arranged the papers on his desk and set the binder down where it belonged, then turned around and crossing his arms over his chest. “Now, let’s go over this shit again. Why the _fuck_ are you guys here at 8:45 in the morning?”  
There was about two seconds of silence. “You remember spring breaks’ soon?” Ray asked. He scratched his shoulder.  
Mikey narrowed his eyes but nodded. “Yeah, four days. Why?”  
“We were wondering if we could stay here, for it,” Frank said.  
Mikey looked at him.  
Ray cleared his throat, “It’s like, my parents’ were gonna bring me and my brothers somewhere, but, then they decided not to do that. This year. And I don’t really have much else to do, so…”  
“And I don’t really have shit for plans, either,” Frank added. He was sitting on Mikey’s bed without asking, again. He spread his hands. “So.”  
“So we were thinking,” Ray picked up the thread of thought, “We were thinking that we could like, keep playing the campaign. Figure out who gets to fuck Princess Juanna, huh?”   
It was too early for this. Mikey shoved some loose clothes off his desk chair and sat down. “Look, first of all you can’t just fuck her,” he said. “She’s a _lady_ , you have to, like, woo her and ask for her hand and stuff.”  
Frank snorted. “We’re crossing vast lands and saving her from a dragon,” he said. “Isn’t that wooing enough?”  
“Not a dragon, a battalion of dark mages and orcs,” Mikey corrected. He coughed into his elbow. “Also, whatever. Uh. I guess you guys could hang out here. But you’ll need to bring sleeping bags and stuff--- and we’ll need to stay in the basement, there’s not enough room up here.”  
Both of his friends nodded, Ray visibly relaxing.   
“Cool,” Ray said at the same time Frank said, “What about your mom? Will she mind?”  
Mikey hesitated for a split second---then decided that she wasn’t likely to bother them either way, and shook his head. “She’ll be alright. Probably go out visit her friends and stuff most of the time, anyway,” he lied, scratching his neck. “We might have to go shopping or something though. Like. If you guys are gonna stay the whole week.” Mikey frowned, mentally counting the amount of cash he had left over from his paycheck.

“I have a bunch of ‘Dew at my house,” Ray offered; Mikey looked up. The curly-haired boy continued, “And cheez-its. And those microwave pizza things.”  
“Oh, me too,” Frank said instantly. “I’ll bring some, too. That would work, right?”  
“Totally,” Mikey said. “Totally work.”  He looked around, suddenly realizing a part of their group was missing. “Hey. Would Gee be coming, too?”  
“I don’t know,” Frank said, pulling a face. “I don’t think so. He has some kind of art thing that week.”  
“A camp,” Ray clarified. “There was some contest, and he’s one of the guys who got in and now they’re spending a week in the dorms at whatever college they’re looking to go to next year.”  
“SVA,” Mikey said, remembering. He was a little disappointed; Gerard was a good player, he even helped Mikey come up with settings sometimes, and always got what Mikey was trying to say even if he himself wasn’t sure. Still, Gerard had wanted to go to art school for a long time, it was good for him to have practice. “Cool for him.”    
They all nodded, and no one said anything for a second.  
  
Mikey scratched his chest before realizing that it was kinda weird that he was laying around in his bare torso with two other guys in the room. He got off the chair and grabbed a relatively clean Star Wars shirt from the end of his bed. As he pulled it over his head, he heard Frank coo, “Aww, that’s cute. Little T has a boyfriend.”  
He froze and then popped his head out the neck hole super fast, wincing when his glasses caught the hem and clattered down to his feet.  
Frank was standing by his desk again, the bastard, holding Gerard’s drawing by the corner and grinning at it.  
“Give it back,” Mikey demanded. “That’s not funny.”  
But Frank just laughed, vaulting across Mikey’s bed too fast for Mikey to grab. He passed the drawing to Ray, bounciing on his heels.  
Ray pointed, snickering. “And they’re blushing, too!” His mini-fro bobbed weirdly as he shook from laughter. “What kind of gayness is that?”  
“Mikey's character and Picard are totally going to do it,” Frank said. He looked up at Mikey. “Do you think Sarah knows?”  
“What? No, I mean—first of all it doesn’t even, Titania’s not my fucking _character_ , and, and he just got bored in math class, it was a _present_ , you’re going to smudge the fucking ink,” Mikey sputtered.  
“I’m pretty sure him and Sarah broke up,” Ray said.  
Mikey felt a strange sense of satisfaction he wasn't sure where from.  He shook his head. "Whatever."  
Frank just snickered. “That totally settles it, man! He’s _wooing_ you! Oh my god, Gerard is totally wooing you. And you like him, too,” And the short bastard danced out of reach as Mikey lunged for him again, laughing his obnoxious fucking laugh. “You totally, totally do, you guys are totally going to have like, weird greasy babies and a ridiculous wedding--”  
“I’m not _gay_!” Mikey said, only realizing that he had almost yelled it when his friends looked at him with wide eyes. He realized, too, that his hands were clenched. He loosened them, tugging on the hem of his t-shirt. “Just, you know, I’m not. It was just a _present_. He made it in math class when he was bored for a while, and it’s well done, so I just-- he's my friend. I’m _not._ ”  
“Okay,” Frank said quickly, palms up. “Totally, we—we know.”  
“Sorry, man,” Ray added a little awkwardly.

The uncomfortable silence was broken by Mikey's mom calling up the stairs. “Pancakes! And tell your friends they can come down, too.”  
"Fucking awesome,” Frank said immediately, dive-rolling off of the side of Mikey’s bed and disappearing out into the hallway. Frank Iero's passion for pancakes was legendary, at least among his friends.  
Ray was a bit more subdued as he got up. He smiled a little at Mikey and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I gotta get home, dude,” he said. “My mom’s making breakfast too. And my brother was gonna teach me more scales today.”  
“Oh. No problem.” Mikey stood up too, and followed his friend down his stairs. “You can still come over for the break, you know. Like, if you want to, or whatever.”  
Ray nodded as they reached the bottom of the stairs and the front door.  
Mikey opened the door for his friend, feeling like it was polite. Through the living room Mikey could hear the sizzle of pancakes and Frank cheerfully chatting up his mom.  
“You should get in there before Frank eats all of 'em,” Ray said. “Just tell your mom I said thanks but no thanks?”

“Will do,” Mikey replied. It went unspoken, he hoped, that Ray wouldn't mention Mikey's outburst to Gee. “I'll see you later.” 

  
\--**--

 

 _Mikey dreamed he was running. Except he wasn’t himself (awkwardly tall and half-blind); he was a fucking elf, strong and immortal, with enchantment-increased senses and long feathered hair. Mikey was also pretty sure that he was a lady, in the dream --the leotard under his enchanted armour hugged his hips in a certain way, and his chest felt heavy when he breathed._  
_But that didn’t matter. His friend had called out for aid, and Mikey was coming._  
_His companion was a long way away, and must be severely outnumbered and possibly injured to have made such a call. That would change once Mikey got there. His sword and his arrows were more sure than the sunrise, and he would fight until death to keep his friend safe._  
_They had called and Mikey was coming to them. He knew that they understood that, the way Mikey himself knew the paths the stars took across the sky that spun out above him._

 

\--**--

 

The rest of the weekend passed, and the days ticked closer to spring break. That was really just as well, since the asshole population of Belleville's second-largest high school seemed to increase whenever a long weekend came up. Mikey got his books knocked out of his hands, his milk knocked off his lap and his pencil bag dumped in the toilet, and that was only one morning.

It wasn't so bad, though, now that he had a mini-campaign to focus on. He decide to ask Gerard's help, purely for professional reasons. Mikey was going to host a marathon D&D session at less than a week’s notice, without completely wrecking the previously established plot-line, and still not spoiling it too much for Gerard when he came back; he needed _advice._  
He met up with Gerard on Tuesday outside the caf. It turned out that the older kid had missed Ray and Frank's little morning intervention because he'd been nursing a hangover, but he was happy to help Mikey build up a storyline for the marathon gaming session Mikey was going to be running over spring break; Gerard invited him over to his house when Mikey didn't have work or too much studying to do so they could work on everything. Mikey was glad to here that. The other boy was better at stories than anyone Mikey knew.

  
Mikey appreciated the help, although spending so much time around the other boy brought up a potentially concerning observation: he looked at Gerard’s hands a lot.

He didn’t mean to--obviously, he didn’t _mean_ to, it wasn’t like that. It was just that the Gee gestured so much when he was talking (and when he was holding a coffee cup, or lighting a cigarette, or getting ready to roll dice, or breathing). Mikey had first noticed it when they were in Gerard's basement bedroom after school working through a particularly thorny bit of narrative. Gerard had smiled around his cigarette at something Mikey had said and his fingers had just been there, nails painted black with some of his mom's polish and bitten off at the ends. Gerard chewed his nails as a nervous habit. Mikey knew that, but it'd never really clicked until then. Mikey had been friends with Gee since like _third grade_ but he had never noticed the other guy's nails before.  
That didn’t mean anything. They were friends. Mikey was allowed to think about his friends.  
He was allowed to want to impress his friends, too, which was why he smoked more cigarettes in those two afternoons in Gerard's basement than he had in his entire life. (After he left Gee's house he went to a Rite Aid and put on some cheap cologne so his mom wouldn’t smell it, feeling weird and cautious.) 

Whatever. It wasn't even a thing.

The day after he'd had the brainstorming sessions with Gee Mikey came home from work, put the food that had been left in the frying pan from lunch in a plastic bag in the fridge, made sure no flammable stuff was near the elements, went up to his room, popped a beer and worked on the gang's adventures Mid-World for a while. Normal stuff. There was important work to do. 

 

**\--**--**

 

The Great Spring Break Campaign Of 1997 was a pretty resounding success, all things considered. It started on a high note, when Frank and Ray had shown up on the front steps of his house Friday afternoon, grinning, backpacks flung across their shoulders and bags of at least a dozen packs of Cheetos each. Mikey had made pizza before hand, and they all gorged before going downstairs.  
When they actually got to playing, there were dozens of things dying gorily in Mikey’s narrative, and sometimes the other guys sat like third graders with ridiculously wide-eyes, just listening to him speak (which was _cool;_ Mikey wasn’t listened too so raptly very often). The Cheetos bags multipied until they were littering the floor like dead leaves at the end of fall; empty Mountain Dew cans were heartily crushed in various ways, one of which resulted in Frank giving himself and Gulstaf a black eye. Other times, they laughed and made creepy comments and threw the dice across the room. On the last night, they stayed up until sunrise just for the fuck of it, watching through the front window because it was six in the morning and Mikey had no inclination to get shot before he graduated, thank you. Then he dragged his friends back downstairs before they woke up his mom with their moronitude.  
  
They ended up waking up again (after actually having slept) at 2:30p.m. and going into panic-mode, throwing shit into garbage bags and their backpacks. “I gotta work in like fourty-five minutes,” Ray huffed, tossing his bag over his shoulders.   
“And my folks wanted me over to have a family dinner or something,” Frank said, making a face.  
Mikey held the door open for them. “No problem, man. I get it.” The house already felt quieter without them even properly out of the door, but he shrugged that out of his mind. “Thanks for grabbing the garbage with me.”  
“It's what friends do,” Frank said with dignity, even as on of the bags seeped something that looked like microwave-pizza sauce onto the arm of his hoodie.  
  
It seemed way too bright for sane people outside but Mikey walked with his friends to the end of his driveway anyhow. “Wonder team powers activate,” he said, sticking his cold hand out. He waited until his friends grinned and high-fived him before sticking it back in his pocket.  
“See you at school, man,” Frank said. He lit up a cigarette, passed another to Ray and they both walked down the street.   
“Tell Juana she'll always have my heart,” Ray yelled over his shoulder at Mikey, who grinned. Frank's laugh was infectious even in the freezing air.

Neither Frank or Ray had mentioned the drawing of Titania and Gerard's character at all during the game; now it wasn't new enough to be proper fodder. As Mikey opened the screen door to his house he wondered Gerard's break had been. 

**  
\--**--**

 

He found out, in detail, when he had to go back to school on Monday. Mikey almost wished he hadn't.  
  
“And then there was the time when we ended up totally tanked and like six blocks away at five in the morning,” Gerard said on Thursday, for the millionth time, “It was _amazing_.”  
The totally-cool punk kid sitting next to him laughed, needlessly loud and obnoxiously. Mikey, who was sitting on the other side of his ( _his_ , goddammit) friend, picked at his lunch and rolled his eyes.  
  
Gerard had come back from the Super Fancy Art College Weekend Prep Retreat with a new metal band T-shirt and more paint under his nails than usual. He smelled of alcohol wherever he went, like the essence of the apparently “legendary” binges him and his prep-mates had went on were still soaked into his hair. (In all fairness it might have been.) Ever since he'd walked in on Monday morning, Gerard had been non-stop gushing about how _amazing and inspiring_ the whole thing had been to anyone who would listen.   
That wasn't anything new, of course; Mikey had known Gerard to have a tendency to gush about things. The difference here was that there were people-- strangers-- listening all the time; apparently, being at the Super Fancy Art College Weekend Prep Retreat meant a widening of social circles. The pretty punk kids didn't quite _follow_ Gerard around, they were too cool for that. No, these metal-studded boys and girls just hung out on the periphery of things, walking through the hallways with him (and Mikey and occasionally Frank or Ray, or both of them), orbiting closer when the brunette was telling another 'fucking amazing' story.  
Which was fine. They could hang out with Gerard. Anyone who wanted could hang out with Gerard. Mikey didn't care, as long as they weren't assfaces and he (Gee, that was) liked them; if they wanted to hang around the him and laugh at his art-course stories, they could do so.  
Even if that meant the Gerard had kind of been annoying for the past three days, and it was actually difficult to get close to him to show him the pencil sketch Mikey had done of a dragon he was thinking of pitting the guys against next.    
And, okay, even if it freaked Mikey out a little that Gee had liked the SVA camp so much. Not that Mikey wanted Gerard to be bummed out, of course not, but it was making Mikey think about how in a couple of months Gerard would be  _gone._ Not coming back over the weekends or anything. It wasn't very hard to get to the city from Belleville, hell Gerard worked there at a comic shop now, but it was the farthest away for the conceivably longest time that Mikey had been from his friend in... ever.    
Gee never treated him like he was a stupid little kid. Still, being two grades apart sucked. 

  
“I think you've already told this story like, a lot,” Mikey said now, not sourly at all.  
“ _I_ haven't heard it,” the pretty punk kid said. Mikey didn't even bother looking over at them. “I bet it's really cool though. Can you tell me, Jiggy?”   (That was another thing. For some reason Gerard had come back with the nickname 'Uncle Jiggy'; all of the new hangers-around called him it. Especially the guy who was simpering at Gerard right then; his hair was longer than a girl's and he'd worn this fake-ass leather jacket all week that had embroidered crap up and down the sleeves. How the guy didn't get the shit kicked out of him on a regular basis was something Mikey would never understand.)

 “... later, I think. I just remembered, I actually have something for you,” Gerard said.   
  
Mikey looked up; his friend was getting the lackey's _gifts_ now? But then he almost dropped his fork. Gerard had turned toward _him_ , with a bright grin, and was rummaging around in one of the pockets of his flannel shirt. _Holy shit._ He was conscious of the punk kid leaning over the table to look at him, and the eyes of some of the dudes at the opposite table turning toward them, as he stuttered out a protest: “Dude, that's--- I mean, thanks and whatever, but you didn't have to--”  
Gerard just waved him off, finally pulling a box the size of a deck of cards out of his pockets. He held it out to Mikey, looking pleased with himself. Behind him, the punk kid's eyes narrowed.  
Mikey would look like a bastard if he didn't take it. And Gerard would be upset. He breathed out through his nose and plucked it out of his friend's hand.  
  
The box was lightweight and unmarked, wrapped in black paper that was secured at the sides with masking tape. He pulled the tape off gingerly, hoping to God that Gerard hadn't gotten him some kind of fancy watch or bracelet, like Mikey was a girl. (Even though it would have been with the best of intentions-- Gee wasn't _cruel.)_  
The tape came undone and he lifted the lid. Then blinked. “Oh, _cool._ ”  
The guys across the aisle laughed at that, but Mikey ignored them, turning the box upside down and watching as the seven crystal die tumbled into his palm. They were a good weight, cats-eye in colour; a D3 and 4, D8 and two D9s, a D12, and the hexagon-gone-crazy of a D20. A basic set, but way fancier than the ones he'd been using since forever. The cafeteria's fluorescent light shone through them and made little green and gold patches on his skin. They were pretty.  
  
“Cool,” he repeated, “Dude, where did you get these?”  
Gerard shrugged and tucked a piece of his hair behind his ear, looking pleased. “At this ratty game shop in the city. I thought like, now you'd have a actual crystal to give me if any shit went down, you know?” He chuckled. 

The punk kid laughed really loudly as soon as Gerard started laughing, as if he knew what the fuck they were talking about.  
Mikey glared at him for a second before re-examining the dice. The crystal was a reference to something that had happened in the game, right after the Sarah Incident: Picard the Elven Ranger had suggested that he and Titania go on an adventure by themselves, and he--- that was, Titania, _she'd_ told Picard that if he ever needed her he could use a crystal to call her, and she'd come find him. Mikey hadn't thought about in a while.  
His friend was still looking at him with soft eyes, like--- whatever. Mikey smiled at him, his throat suddenly going all weird. (It must have been something he ate. He'd _knew_ the apple was gross, shit.) “Thanks, man,” he croaked. “It's awesome.”  
“No problem,” Gee answered, smiling, and then the punk kid tapped his arm so he turned away from Mikey to talk about some band that sounded totally lame.

Mikey stuffed the dice back in the box and then stuck the box back into his pocket, determinedly ignoring the way his heart was pattering in his chest. He decided to just focus on chugging his milk until he felt normal again. 

  
\--**--

 

  
_Mikey was dreaming again. The song of the crystal had rang through the very stars to her, and now Titania was running. Picard the Ranger, strong of arm and ready of wit, was in dire need of her help; so she would come._  
  
_The call had come from far away. Even with her Seven League Boots and torrent of wind behind her, she feared that whatever evil her friend was facing would be too much for him alone, so she stretched herself to all the limits she knew. Rain and fierce sun and snow and great forests blurred around her; in her haste, she smelled more than saw them. The sky spun above her, purple and heavy as she ran._

  
_And then she was there, sliding to a stop in the dirt at the edge of the Singing Forest, breathing in great gusts, her bow already drawn. But where was Picard?_  
_For but a second she stilled, concentrating. Then the wind shifted, and she understood._

_Orcs. The sweet smell of the woods was marred with the stench of their blood, and under the shadows of the trees bodies upon bodies lay unmoving. Roars and inhuman screams cluttered the night, coming from far deeper in the trees.  
_ _In the jewel moon's light she freed three arrows from her quiver and held them loosely in her hand as she made her way into the forest, quick and silent._

_She heard his fierce yells first, though they were nearly smothered by the noise of the monsters around him. As she neared, she saw flashes of his grey hair and great sword amid the trees and carnage. At once she understood the need for his call: orcs were stupid, but they were incredibly strong, and there were easily dozens surrounding her companion, and more running towards him._  
_Titania felt fury boiling through her veins like water down a young river, pouring over falls. How_ dare _they?_  
_She did not break her stride when she leaped onto a branch of the nearest tree, nor when she let her first arrow fly; it burrowed itself into the back of one of the monster's necks, and she allowed herself a smile, teeth glinting in the dappled moonlight. Seven more monsters fell to her before she even reached the clearing where her friend fought._  
_When she came to the edge, she made a springboard of the last branch she'd ran along, shot two arrows while she flew, and with a clever turn of her body landed on both feet, back to back with Picard. “It seems you are in need of aid, my friend!” She called out over the cacophony, her hands flashing between quiver and bowstring. “I would perhaps even call this a rescue!”_  
_She heard his bell-like laugh above even the sound of steel on flesh and the pig-screams of the monsters they'd injured; she laughed in return._  
_They stayed pressed back-to-back throughout the onslaught, turning in a tight circle, pushing their foes out and away with steel and flint and courage. They soaked the ground and the trees with the darkness of blood. Every so often a brute would rush forward to actually land a hit on flesh, going after Titania as she had no short-range; she would cry out in more fury than pain, ready to kill, but in the next second Picard's blade would slash the creature dead at her feet, with a snarl, and she would fire an arrow over his head at an oncoming enemy, and they would continue to drive them back._  

 _Finally, the noises of the battle quieted. Any orcs left standing fled into the forest, tripping over their dead comrades, and the blood-bats that had been hanging in the shadows descended from their perches to begin to feed. Titania stood in the center of the clearing, breathing slow but heavy breaths, scanning each section outside the clearing once more with her arrows ready before she lowered her arm. The warm air was empty of cries or secret footsteps now. To the east, she could here the sweet rumble of a river._  
_She relaxed her shoulders for a moment, staring up at the moon._  
_Picard turned to face her, and studied her from her feet to her hair; eyes lingering not unkindly. He offered her a kerchief. “Here.”_  
_She wiped her face. “Thank you,” she said gratefully. It felt good to have the blood off her skin, even though the wretched smell still wasn't far away._  
“ _Thank_ you _, my lady,” Picard replied. He stepped infinitesimally closer to her. “For hearing my call and for coming to my aid... and rescue, it must be said. If you had not came I fear I may have ended up skewered.”  
__The thought of Picard unseeing on the forest floor was alarming, but Titania laughed it away, waving her hand. “You jest, of course. I am no grand Lady, for one; merely a maiden-fighter. And if you had ended up_ skewered _it would have been impressive, considering the state of our opponent's weapons.” She gestured to the dead bodies all around, which were already half-unrecognizable from all the flora growing over them. (The forest was singing deep and complicated rhythms, weaving these new unmoving additions to the soil into the established harmony; by morning, the bodies would be as earth, with no trace left behind.) “Clubs and crude projectiles, they fought us with. The only sword in the area to have been skewered on is your own,” she teased._

 _Picard shrugged with one shoulder, wiping some of his shining hair away from eyes (their smooth grey colour sparkling in the purple light, reflecting the woods). “That may be true,” he said, and then hesitated for a second, turning his head away from her._  
_Titania licked her lips watching him. Her fingers stroked up and down the handle of her bow, feeling the smooth wood, familiar as breath._  
“ _May I ask,” Picard started, looking at her once more, “If you desire some sort of recompense for coming to my aid?”_  
“ _Recompense?”_  
“ _Payment of some kind. For your arrows, and your time.”_  
_A sudden breeze came out of the trees, rich with the smell of clean water, and Titania leaned into it, laughing. “Picard,” she answered easily. “My arrows are easily found again, and my time was freely given. I don't seek any gold or wares from you.” She paused, looking to the sky again. The moon was full, a ripe fruit; the trees were breathing out sweetness again. “Although,” she added, slowly, letting a smile curl up her face, “I think a small boon, would do just fine.”  
_ “ _Acceptable,” Picard agreed. There were twin spots of flush just under his cheekbones; perhaps leftover excitement from the battle. Perhaps not. “Name it, my friend.”_

“ _A kiss,” she said easily. She stepped forward so they were nearly chest to chest, so she could feel his breath on her face. Realization reflected in his green-and-honey eyes.“A kiss, and we are even.”  
__His smile, when it bloomed fully, was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen._

 _As she raised her eyebrows he leaned in, and the warm night grew warmer around them as their arms went around each other, holding fast and close._  
_The ranger's lips felt cracked under hers, from wind and sunlight, and warmed by his breath; her mouth tasted like smoke. His hair was soft as moonlight under her fingers and she let him push her gently backwards until she felt bark against her shoulderblades._  
_She leaned her bow against the trunk beside them –if left, the soil would sing it roots, and by morning it would be an elegant sapling humming with strength-- and grabbed the back of Picard's shirt with her now-empty hand._  
_He pressed his own hand against her lower back, pulling her more closely against him, and she hooked her leg behind his knee, unbalancing them both. Their kiss broke as they tumbled to the earth; Titania laughed with the giddiness of the short fall and they rolled off the low slope of the trees base onto true earth, the air around them sweet as anything. They knocked fresh dew off of leaves as they landed, Titania straddling him with her hands on the ground on either side of his head. She stared down at him, cupping his cheek and marveling at the beauty of his smile; how quickly he was breathing; how beautiful the brown of his hair was, shining with dew drops and fanned out over the cracked pavement, and---_  
_but---_  
And---

 _And suddenly Gerard picks up the game again and bucks his hips, sending Mikey face-first into his forehead, which would have hurt a normal human but Gee has a skull as thick as a goddamn dinosaur's, so he just laughs and uses Mikey's lack of balance to roll him_ _onto his back and pin him there. They're both panting, chests heaving in the night, and Mikey thinks he might burst in a second. Behind Gerard's head Mikey can see light clouds and New Jersey's meagre offering of stars. The forest is gone, he's lying on concrete and to the direct left of them he can see the foot of a red brick wall that Mikey knows without question is the back wall of the school, the place where cool kids go to skip gym class and everyone else goes to smoke._  
_Then Gerard is kissing him, open mouth and full tongue and Jesus Christ Gerard is a basement kid, how did he learn to kiss like_  this _? His mouth tastes like cigarettes, honey and leftover bravery._  
_Mikey kisses back, burying his fingers in the other boy's hair and propping himself half-up on his elbow to be closer. Gerard is sighing into his mouth, he can barely believe it. Mikey can feel all of Gee's weight on his waist, he's going to explode, and he wants Gerard to touch his neck, and his chest, please God he wants Gerard to pop the button on Mikey's fly and push the zipper down and--  
_ _Gerard breaks off to pant again, lips red and beautiful. He shifts so his hands are on either side of Mikey's head and his one knee is right beside Mikey's hip, and then he works his other thigh between Mikey's-- who now can't the sky or the brick wall or anything except the other boy's glowing face. The air around them is still sweet as anything and Gee's eyes are wide and soft and practically shining from the inside. He leans down onto his elbow and kisses Mikey full on the mouth again, curling his right hand to cradle Mikey's head while his left hand slides down Mikey's chest to his waist--_

\-- and Mikey falls off his bed, hitting head pretty harshly on the corner of his night table and then on his floor. The pain registers and stings like hell, but Mikey doesn't give a fuck at first; he's got his hand on his dick under his pyjamas. His hips jerk-- he rolls over and muffles his moans in the ratty carpet as he comes all over his hand and his Batman pants.  
Afterwards he lies there for a few seconds, dazed and still faintly horny. Then he wipes his hand off on a clean spot of the blanket that's still wrapped around him like a cocoon, and heaves himself until he's sitting up. He stays up for a few seconds, looking at his hands, the stale smell of his bedroom filtering through his tiredness, and he wonders why it's such a surprise. He wipes a piece of annoying hair out of his eyes.

Then, all at once, he remembers his dream. His hands freeze.

Curling into a ball like a snail retreating into its shell, he lets himself fall sideways again. He lands with a muffled 'thump' that makes his head ring. Mikey considers hitting his head again, just in case that would create some sort of low-pain, quick-acting, long-lasting amnesia.  
“Shit,” he muttered to himself, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead into his knees, fetal-position. “Oh, shit.”  
  
  
//

 


	2. Part The Second: A Third Gift

//  
  
It was a dream, Mikey told himself over and over for the next two weeks, especially when Gerard saw him in the hallways at school and gave his friend a passing smile. A dream. Doesn't mean anything.

It _didn't,_ except that his subconscious had picked up on some more classically 'romantic' pieces of the games; the same way that the gift drawing he'd gotten had been just thought, a gift. It didn't mean a single thing about him, that he was--- whatever. Not a single thing.

Of course, there was a small nagging voice at the back of his head that insisted the dream _did_ mean something. (Specifically, that he was approximately as straight as Toro's hair when he grew it out and that he like-liked Gerard and wanted to kiss him and hold him, in addition to making out against the back of the school with him and dating and having sex and getting married and having weird, mutated babies together with him, somehow.)  
Worse still, it insisted that he should _tell Gerard_ about the dream admit that he 'liked' him. As if that wouldn't wreck Mikey's entire life forever--- even with it not meaning anything.  
He couldn't escape the nagging voice; it was there, in the back of his head, whatever he did. Especially any time he even went around Gerard; he'd taken to keeping his mouth firmly and intentionally shut, just in case he blurt out something that he didn't mean at all. It was like a word-vomit maker. He tried chugging beer, and then energy drinks, in order to drown it out but nothing actually worked; if anything, it got worse when he was drunk and super-extra worse when he got sugar-and-ginseng high.  
There were a few times he'd just barely avoided actually calling Gerard, at his house, in the middle of the night. (That time, he'd dodged his mom's half-awake questions, apologised for waking her up, fled back to his room and sat on his bed for half an hour, fists pressed to his forehead, trying to ignore the part of his brain singing ' _coward, coward, coward'._ )  
So. He couldn't avoid his own brain, and the stupid rambling that went on inside it (because it _did not_ mean anything; his grey-matter was just being stupid). But, he realized after that incident with the almost-phone call, he _could_ avoid Gerard.

  
It was easy to do at school. His friend was a graduating senior, while Mikey still had two years to go until he was free of the place; they had no classes together. Everyone took the same lunch break but with the entire teeming student body swirling around the cafeteria it was simple to pretend not to see someone. If he ever passed him in the halls, Mikey would just raise his eyebrows in recognition and then shuffle his books around in his arms as an excuse, _sorry, I have so much to do._ As long as he kept moving it was all good.  
Avoiding him at their group's weekly trips to the darkroom and Mid World was a lot more difficult, but Mikey just focused even more on the game itself than he did already. (And didn't think about Gerard's hair being shinier than before, or the way his eyebrows went up when he didn't hear something.) Gulstaff and Nightblade didn't seem to notice if Mikey interacted with them as them, rather than their characters, more or less. He was the DM, after all. It was kinda expected. Plus they were into the game more too, now that they were back on the road to Princess Juana's castle. (Nightlade, when not in a tavern, had taken to outlining in unnecessary detail what he hoped to do with Juana when he got into her tower room. Gulstaf had suggested that it was a bit ridiculous to make all the plans while the halfling thief was still so obviously busy in the taverns with male wenches. Nightblade had threw his dice set at him.)  
  
And so it went, all rather well, for about two weeks. Mikey was starting to feel a bit better about himself.

 

\--*--

 

Then came the third game of the month, when Gerard apparently decided that he was going to _make_ everyone pay attention to him.

  
It was about five minutes after four and Gee had just downed a swig from his Budweiser can, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand (with the pinky out like he was at a tea party), then put the can down and looked straight at Mikey. “Why are we even saving her, anyway?”  
Mikey looked up from the manual and blinked. “Uh. Picard, you're standing in the middle of a field, on your way to the Stormy Lands. You sure it's a good time to start a philosphical conversation?” He asked, carefully keeping his hands on either side of the book he was holding.  
Gerard tilted his head. “Are there any orcs around us?”  
“Well, no.”  
“Dragons? Hostile hags? Psychotic birds trying to eat us?” His eyes were sharp.  
Mikey took a gulp of Mountain Dew to clear his throat. “No, none of that. The field is-- is in bloom, and the grasses sway in the wind, but it is empty except for you three adventurers.”  
“Then I invite my friends and fellow adventurers to stop and have a drink,” Gerard announced.  
Nightblade perked up at that. “What kind of drink?”  
“Ale,” Gerard replied. “I still have the three bottles that I got for that sword a few towns back.”  
Nightblade let out a small 'woop', at the same time Gulstaf laughed out, “I sit down with him and take the ale.”  
“Me too!” Ray leaned forward and high-fived the other two.  
It wasn't even worth shutting them down about it. Mikey huffed. “... fine. You all three sit down on some nearby boulders and begin drinking the ale provided by Picard.”  
“I'm good with that,” Nightblade grinned. He took a long chug of his Mountain Dew can, as if that could actually get him drunk. “In fact, I'm so good with it that I take out a bottle of gin from my pack and add the whole thing to my ale so I can get drunk.”  
“Why do you have a bottle of gin in your backpack? Where'd you even get it?” Gulstaf asked, looking confused.  
Mikey snickered. “I don't know, dude, where could a halfing _thief_ have possibly gotten a bottle of gin?”  
“Oh what _ever_ , you don't _have_ to be a thief to steal stuff!” Gulstaf hunched his shoulders. “And you had just finished saying it isn't even his turn, why are you letting him go?”  
“I didn't make a _turn_ move, it was just like a character move! That's totally different!”  
“Yeah? Why is it different when you want to get drunk but when I'm preparing to cast a spell I have to wait until it's my turn?”  
“Because your spell was to attack people, that's technically a pre-meditation, which the rules say you have to do on your own time,” Mikey said to Frank, exasperatedly. “I have the book here, you can look it up if you want--”  
“I put down my ale and call my friend Gulstaf,” Gerard interrupted.  
Frank practically broke his neck from how fast he turned away from Mikey and his totally inarguable criticism. Whatever. “Yes, my friend? What do you need of me?”  
“Oooh,” Nightblade jeered-- or tried to jeer, since his face was full of Cheetos. 

  
Gerard ignored him. “Gulstaf, tell me,” he paused to take another swig of beer, “Why do we travel so far and fight so bloodily for a lady none of us have ever seen?”  
“The princess' beauty is famed,” Mikey put in, glaring at Gerard a best as he could without actually looking at him. “By all who know of her.”  
The other boy just waved a hand at him. “I don't mean that, I mean why specifically us, and why now? Like--- I mean, _clearly,_ there is... the lady lives in a great tower, which is heavily fortified and enchanted. No orcs or dragons or cobalts could harm her there; and she's lived for so long by herself anyway, she can obviously take care of herself. So why are we fighting so much?” His eyes flicked toward Mikey (or maybe they did; it wasn't like Mikey was paying attention to the other boy's eyes). “We're just deludng ourselves. Don't you think?” He looked back at Frank. “”Gulstaf?”  
To Frank's credit, he seemed to be thinking about it fairly seriously, despite his newb status. (Or, Mikey thought, _because of_ his newb status; he wouldn't know that it was unusual for fighters to stop in the middle of a field and start philosophizing about the chick they were on a quest for.) He was frowning at the Coke can near his knee like his answer was inside its metallic sides. “Well... because she's a princess,” he said finally. “Princesses need saving.”  
“Plus she'll let her rescuer do her,” Ray put in, snickering behind his hand.  
Mikey rubbed his forehead exasperatedly. “For the _millionth time,_ Nightblade, you can't just 'do' her,” he put air quotes around the 'do', “She's a princess, a proper one, you have to---”  
“Woo her and marry her and stuff, you've said.” Frank rolled his eyes.  
“And who even says she will, though?” Gerard's eyes were dark, maybe from the beer; he wiped his mouth and leaned forward, a smile that was almost a smirk playing on the edge of his lips. The red light they left on for atmosphere (and to see their stat sheets) made the shadows on his face deeper and more lively at the same time.  
Goosebumps ran up Mikey's arms and the back of his neck. He rubbed at them absently, focusing on the dice in front of him and his notes on the particular field they were in. It was cold in the darkroom, that was it.  
“You can't expect a lady to rip off her dress and fall into your arms just because you broke down a few doors and killed people,” Gerard was saying. “It's not the least bit respectful to her.”   
“Well it's not really _respectful_ to her to leave her locked up in a tower for the rest of her life, either,” Frank said, scratching his throat. (He'd been trying, valiantly, to grow a beard. So far he'd managed what looked like a spotty dead weasel on his face.)  
Ray nodded and pointed at him, making agreeing noises through his cheesy-filled mouth. “Nightblade believes the newb speaks truth,” Mikey filled in.  
Frank flipped him off.  
Gerard tapped his chin with one finger, like he was considering something, then said, “I use the crystal I keep in my belt pouch at all times to call Titania.”

“Why are you even carrying a spell pouch, you're a ran--” The rest of the sentence froze in Mikey's throat when he realized what exactly Geratd had said. Shit. He quickly averted his eyes and chugged of the 'Dew he had by his foot.  
“Is that not allowed?” Gerard asked, voice seeming just a breath lower than it had been two seconds ago.  
The goosebumps were back with a vengeance. Mikey rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh... roll for it. D20, above fifteen--”  
“She shows up, got it,” Gerard interrupted, dice already rattling in his hands.  
“The crystal even _works_ ,” he finished, surreptitiously facepalming. _Shit, shit, hell._ He hadn't even written Titania into this session. He couldn't let Gerard catch onto that, though; he might be upset or something. (Maybe. For some reason.) “Then another roll to see if she'll show up.”  
The other boy's grin was brighter than the actual lightbulbs in the room and Mikey definitely did not think about leaning over into his face-space so he could see his lips up close. “Deal,” Gerard said, and threw his dice high, like always. They hit the floor in the middle of the circle they all sat in, just barely missing the bowl of Skittles, and rolled face-up to be-- “Seventeen!”  
There were general whoops; Gerard took his die back, still with his teeth poking over the edge of his lip, and then tossed it a second time. "Sixteen!"  
“Rock and roll!” Frank laughed, clapping obnoxiously, to Gerard's and Ray's laughter. 

  
Mikey shook himself and raised a hand to get them to shut up. “Alright, everyone, settle down,” he said, chucking his now-empty Dew can at Frank when he imitated Mikey with a helium-pitched voice and hand-wave. “Okay, so-- so Picard, your bid has been successful. The crystal glows in your hand, and in a few seconds there's a great gust of wind and Titania lands with both feet on the plain, beside you. She's wearing a, uh, blue tunic, a quiver of arrows, some black tights or pants or whatever, and-- and her Seven League Boots. You know by looking at her that that's how she got to you so quickly.” He swallowed down the bile that had suddenly clawed its way up his throat. What a stupid thing to be worried about. “She asks, what is it?” 

“Wait, are we still in the field?” Ray interrupted, scratching his shoulder.  
Mikey sighed and spent a second re-orienting Ray.  
Ray nodded, then leaned forward a bit. “When you said her pants were tight--”  
“Holy hell, Nightblade. They're tight enough for her to stand up without losing them and for them to be non-hindering during closehand combat. Now. She turns toward Picard and asks him what's wrong.” He glanced at Gerard.  
“But what colour is her hair?” Frank quipped. “And eyes?”  
Mikey swore, covering his face with his hands for a second. “Does it actually _matter?_ She's there in front of you.”  
“You're just saying that because you lost her sheet, aren't you?” Frank laughed, drumming his palms on his knees.  
“Titania is tall and slender, and she has dark blonde hair and golden eyes with an edge of green,” Gerard put in.  
Mikey looked up at him, surprised.  
Gee smiled back at him. “I was drawing her,” he explained, turning to their teammates, “I kind of had to know what she looked like. And Mikey described her to us a few weeks ago, remember? When that Brian kid played with us?” Brian was a senior, and one of the only kids in school that had as many piercings as Frank wanted. Dude even had _tattoos._ He'd already had a character sheet (Necromancer Sorcerer) but hadn't played in a while, so he'd been a bit rusty on how combat worked and stuff.  
“How tall?” Ray asked with interest, at the same time Frank said, “Yeah, hey, I remember Brian. He was pretty cool.”  
“She's five eleven,” Gerard answered Ray, who's eyebrows went way up behind his bushy-as-fuck hair, though he only said, “Huh.”   
  
Mikey determinedly ignored that five foot eleven was how tall _he_ was. “Okay, can we get back to the game now?” He said loudly. “You guys are in a field, Picard's called up a parlé with a NPC, Titania showed up. She turns to Ger-- I mean, Picard, and asks what's going on. And,” he added, with a sudden burst of inspiration,  
“You realize that you'll have to move quickly, because you see dark clouds moving in from the west.”  
“Plus Titania and Picard were about to make out. No one wants to see that.”  
“Fuck off, Frank. The clouds carry the smell of sulfur with them and seem to have flame in their depths. The wind picks up and is pushing them closer; you all understand that danger is near.” Time to move this charade along.  
“I take Titania's hand,” Gerard said, and kept talking over Franks' coo and Ray's incredulous look at Frank. He turns toward Mikey. “I apologize for the abruptness, lady; but as you can see we have cause to hurry. I have something to ask you.”  
“She says, I know about the princess,” Mikey said. “She looks up at the gathering clouds and looks concerned.” He rubbed his arm. Gerard was still looking straight at him.  
“If the clouds are so close, shouldn't we head back toward the village?” Frank asked, pulling them all off-track again.  
“It wouldn't even matter,” Mikey said, “You wouldn't make it in time to actually escape the rain.”  
“Then how did Titania get here so fast? The crystal wasn't a teleporter or something.”  
Mikey rubbed his temple. “Her Seven-League boots, like I said before, can we _please_ just get back to--”  
“I take her boots and go back to the tavern in the village,” Ray said.  
Gerard sat up straight, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean, you take her boots? She's wearing them right now.”  
“Well, I have to get to the village somehow.”  
“The wenches will wait for you, Nightblade, I'm sure,” Mikey cut in. “You guys need to find shelter from the storm--”  
“Wench doesn't have to mean like, whores or whatever, you know,” Gerard said, “It's actually just a old-English term for waitresses, basically--”

“Hey, since when did you get all, whatever, anyway?” Frank asked, waving his hand around to indicate the 'whatever', before pointing an accusing finger at the senior boy. “A few weeks ago you would've been laughing with us, probably louder than us.”  
Gerard had his serious expression on. “A few weeks ago I didn't know any better. When I was in the prep camp for SVA, there were a whole bunch of really intelligent, artistic women there and the people who were running the thing had a bunch of seminar-type things scheduled about women in art and pop culture, and it just really made me--”  
“Queer?” Frank said sarcastically.  
Mikey, who had just taken a handful of Cheetos, froze with them halfway to his mouth.  
“-- think,” Gee finished, rolling his eyes like it was _so taxing_ to explain this most basic concept to mere mortals, and not reacting anymore than that. “It made me think about little things I do every day that like, belittles girls and women, and how totally stupid that is, I mean--- my grandmother's a woman, you know? Obviously. And she's one of the most amazing people I know, like, out of everyone.”  
The others nodded at this, even though they looked a little bemused. The amazingness of Gerard's grandmother was something much talked about in their group--- mostly by the senior boy himself. Dude was a bit biased, of course, but all of them had met her in person once or twice, and she'd seemed a bit on the crazy side of 'pretty cool' to all of them but pretty cool nonetheless.  
“And one of the points made at the seminar was that when we-- like, me, or any of you guys-- make jokes about girls, you're talking about the women in your life to, you know?” Gerard continued earnestly. “The presenter was saying that making jokes about that sort of thing against one woman like, justifies them happening to all women--”  
“Woah woah, hold up, I wasn't talking about jumping her or something,” Frank said, putting his hands up and looking disgusted. “And that doesn't even--- they're _fictional,_ it doesn't mean I would actually, make fun if some lady got her purse stolen on the street or something!”  
“Oh my god,” Mikey mumbled, hiding his face in his hands.  
“I would _never_ do something like that to a real person,” Ray was protesting along with Frank. “It's just a game.”  
“But that's just it, your attitude in games and stuff reflects your attitude in real life!” Gerard crowed. He leaned forward, eyes bright and hands moving emphatically. “Even if you don't realize it! That's the whole thing, it's not that you'd intentionally hurt or steal from a real women, but you've-- and I've-- grown up steeped in this idea of violence as a hilarious thing, a totally not a big deal thing, especially toward girls or women! Don't you guys see--”  
 

“Hey, kids.”  
The inner door to the dark room creaked open and regular light spilled into their space. For some reason all of them froze like raccoons in headlights, turning their heads toward the door with wide eyes.   
A guy with overalls and a mop stood in the doorway. He frowned down at them. “It's almost half past five. What exactly are youse all doing here?”  
Mikey pushed himself to his feet as quickly as he could. He heard the others doing the same behind him. “We're just gaming, du-- sir. We're the D and D, I mean the Dungeons and Dragons group? The principal and Mr. Collins let us use the darkroom for games on Mondays---”  
“Is that beer?” The janitor interrupted sharply. He pointed at Gerard, who shifted on his feet. “In your hand, young man. Let me see it.”  
Gerard passed up a empty, dented can. It was green. “Just Mountain Dew, sir,” he said.  
Mikey raised his eyebrows, looking over his shoulder. Just in the shadow cast by Gerard's heel, there was the used-up Budweiser can. The senior's shoes wiggled; when Mikey looked back up at his friend, Gerard winked. _Subtle as fuck,_ Mikey thought.  
“What your smelling is just normal chemicals,” Ray was lying, “Photo-producing stuff; it can get pretty rank in here sometimes, but it's not our fault.”  
The janitor watched while he talked, shaking his head. “Look, kids,” he said, “I've already locked all of the doors and even I have to go in half an hour. I'm going to need you all to pack up whatever you have in here,” he gestured at their character sheets and die and snacks, still assembled into a loose circle on the floor. “And get out. Hear that?”  
“We will, sir,” Mikey assured him.

  
The janitor shook his head again and left, carrying his mop. He left the doors open and the light pouring in. Behind Mikey, Gerard muttered something indignant about the preservation of artistic photographs and the damage of fluroescent bulbs on negatives.

“Well!” Frank said brightly. “You heard the man. Let's clean this bitch up.”  
Gerard glared at him.

\--**--

  
Out of all of them, Gerard was the only one who had a vehicle, and since he'd only had one beer they all climbed into his car (a silver Subaru XT that looked grimy but not so grimy that it had to be washed; Mikey appreciated that, and was kind of jealous). Frank called shotgun when they were still inside the school, but Ray made him pull the seat up so he could stretch out his legs, so it all worked out fine. It was about a twenty-minute walk, but a five or so minute drive, and really it was better to avoid walking when they could, given how baking hot it was outside. Mikey rested his head on the window during the ride.  
The four of them talked about easy things that didn't matter for the five minutes. Frank got let off first, which led to Ray crowing victory as he hopped into the front seat, which he happily stayed in while Gerard rolled down the block and a half to the curly-haired dude's house.  
“Thanks, man,” Ray said before shutting the door. Gerard nodded at him and waved through the window.

 

Even though it was obvious it took a second before Mikey realized, abruptly, that they were alone in the car. He sat up and cleared his throat, hand on the door handle. “I can just get off here, it's only three blocks to my house. Thanks for the ride--”  
“Actually I was thinking something,” Gerard said in a rush. When Mikey paused, he continued, “Do you want to go for coffee with me, right now? I can still drive you home after, right to the step, if you... if you want.” His fingers drummed on the steering wheel.  
Mikey looked out the back windshield at the house Ray had already disappeared inside, mentally going through his normal route home from here, measuring time difference. He thought about his mom, probably still asleep on the couch, maybe in her pyjamas, a cigarette in the ashtray in front of her and the TV on 'Wheel of Fortune' or something. The smell of old dinner everywhere.  
“The place I'm thinking of is only five minutes from here,” Gerard offered. “And I could pay for your drink, if you wanted.” He was smiling hopefully.  
(He looked... pretty, when he smiled.) Mikey let his hand drop off the door handle. “I have too much blood in my caffeine vessels, anyway.” His mom wouldn't care if he was twenty minutes off.  
Gerard laughed.

The Starbucks they ended up at was indeed five minutes away from them, and blessedly cool inside. Gerard insisted they take the seat closer to the window “to people-watch”, even though the place was almost totally empty and the small plastic circle-table still had crumbs on it from the last diner.  
Gerard frowned at these and wiped them to the floor. “You'd think they'd keep it cleaner,” he said. “Starbucks is supposed to be all classy. You know?”  
“It's still staffed by teenagers,” Mikey pointed out. "I wouldn't care too much, if I worked here."  
Gerard smiled at him across the table. Their hands, Mikey noticed suddenly, were only a spare inch or so apart. He hurriedly picked a sugar pack from the little ceramic bowl and leaned back in his chair to study it, though for some reason, he couldn't quite concentrate on the words.  
When he looked up again, Gerard was at the counter, talking and laughing with the cashier (who was probably another art school kid; she had green in her hair and a nose piercing and a 'riot grrl' shirt). In a few seconds he seemed to have ordered as well, and was walking toward their table with a frosted plastic coffee cup in each hand. He turned sideways to nudge through some chairs; his jeans slipped down a little bit so the top of his belly curved out.  
Mikey's fingers hurt. He looked out the window again.

  
“Do you see the girl at the register?” Their cups sloshed as Gerard set them on the table. “I saw you looking over. Her name's Andrea, I met her at--”  
“The art camp thing,” Mikey finished, his stomach twisting a little. He popped the plastic tag n his drink and closed his eyes into the steam. “So, did you meet her or, like,  _meet_ her?”  
Gerard grimaced, sitting down and scooting his chair closer to the table. “Hell no. I mean, not that-- she's really cool, her taste in music is great and her composition's always kicked ass. But I just met her. And, uh, common thought is that I'm not exactly her type.”  
Mikey mentally revised his opinion on the barista's hair and nose piercing. “Cool,” he said, non-committal and calm. He took a sip of his drink and savoured it. “Single-single with a dark roast and some kind of mint shot?” He guessed.  
The other boy raised his eyebrows. “Toro said that you had some creepy coffee telepathy. I guess he was right. It's peppermint leaves, not a shot, though,” he added with a small smile.  
Mikey checked under the cup's lid. So it was. “Classy,” he said.  
Gerard nodded, tipping back his own drink. Mikey watched his throat move, quickly looking away when the other boy set his cup down. “So,” he said, studying the sidewalk outside the window.  
“So,” Gerard agreed.  
“So... why did you bring me here?”  
“No real reason. I just, you know, heard you liked coffee.” Gerard was holding his coffee in one hand, using the other to curl a lock of his around his finger, again and again.  
Mikey laughed a little, “What do you mean you  _heard_?” Coffee was practically a dietary staple for their group; Mikey'd been bringing a thermos to games since like seventh grade.  
Two spots of flush appeared on Gerard's cheekbones as he took a drink.   
Mikey thought, for a split second, of a purple night in a forest that sang-- and then he kicked himself in the shin.  _That dream never happened,_ he told himself sternly, staring down at his coffee again. (His heart was still beating faster than it had a few seconds ago. Traitor.)  
“So,” the other boy said, clearing his throat in what was probably meant to be a casual way, “We haven't hung out together much, you know, with the art and school shit we have to do, recently. And, like. It'd be cool if we could. I kinda miss you, man.”  
Mikey wanted to say that they hung out together every Monday, but he knew that that wasn't what his friend was getting at. He gave Gerard a small, semi-queasy smile in response and then quickly took another sip of his drink; it didn't taste like much at that point, but it gave him something to do with his hands.

Across the table, Gerard cleared his throat again (or maybe this time it was actually coughing). “I was thinking,” he said. “That maybe you could come over to my house this weekend?”  
Mikey almost inhaled coffee. (Him and the other boy, at his house? Together? Alone? Mikey was on his way to panicking even at the thought.) “Um,” he said intelligently.  
“I'm writing this thing I'd like you to look at-- if you could, and everything.” The other boy was suddenly very interested in his own coffee. “It's a comic, with a story arc.”  
Mikey couldn't think of anything to say, again. He tried to take a sip of his coffee only to find the cup empty in his hands. “Dammit,” he muttered, setting it on the edge of the table.  
Gerard looked up, seemingly flustered. “Oh, you're done?”  
He nodded. “I guess I really needed caffeine. Uh, thanks, and everything.”  
“ No problem, dude. I could get you another one if you wanted?” His friend's fingers drummed on the table.  
“ No,” Mikey said too quickly.  __Shit._ _ “Thanks,” he added, trying to backpedal, “For the offer, but it's like, almost six or something? I have to get home soon.” His mom would be waking up about now, it wasn`t totally a lie. “And I have something planned already this weekend, a-- a family thing. Can't get out of it if I tried.” Right, that hadn't been convincing at all and he knew it.

By the expression on Gerard's face, which made him feel like he'd just kicked a artistic puppy, the other boy knew it too. He'd put his cup down. Not really looking at Mikey, he said, “You know if you're done and everything, I could just drive you back home now.”  
“Okay,” Mikey agreed, trying to hide his relief. “I mean-- yeah, sure. Thank you.”  
“My pleasure,” his friend said, smiling in a sardonic kind of way. He pushed his chair back with a scrape of plastic-on-linoleum and walked toward the door, still holding on to his beverage like a talisman. His shoulders were maybe more hunched than they'd been when they had came in.  
Mikey followed him, stopping by the garbage can to chuck out his now-empty cup. He also called out a, “Hey, thanks, it was good coffee” to the barista; seeing as they were the only people in the place, it felt rude not too. She looked at him with an unreadable expression and waved him out.  
It was only as he walked across the parking lot that he realized she must've heard everything him and Gerard had been saying. The thought hit him like cold water in his stomach.

 

Gerard's beat-up silver car seemed even more beat-up and silvery in the ambient light from the west, where the sun was starting to sink below the roofs of houses and condos. The boy himself had his arm hanging out the driver's seat window, a cigarette held loosely between two fingers. “Get in, dude,” he said when he saw Mikey, flashing yet another smile, like the last five minutes of their lives hadn't been train-wreckingly awkward.  
Mikey nodded, sticking his hands in his jeans pockets as he walked around to the passenger side of the vehicle and pulled the door open. Once he had his seatbelt on and the door was shut again, he relaxed a tiny fraction, leaning his head against the warm glass of the window.  
After a while, when the only in-car sound was his friend inhaling and exhaling smoke, Mikey opened his eyes and looked over.  
Gerard was sitting like a photograph, smoke held up to his mouth, eyes just barely closed, hair lit gold by the smouldering sun which streamed in through the window, glaringly bright. In the long moment that this pose held, Mikey remembered the other boy telling that pretty punk kid –who had scrammed recently, thankfully--- that he'd thought of dyeing it cherry-red when he was at Art School next year, because all the cool kids were doing it. ...the other boy hadn't worded it quite like that, of course, but Mikey thought that was kind of what he was getting at. Not that a little colour was necessarily a bad thing; he just couldn't imagine how bright-red hair would look against Gerard's skin. It'd always been deep brown, ever since Mikey had met him in third grade, and the look suited his pale Italian skin well, and it seemed to bring out his eyes.  
Not that Mikey... oh, shit, fuck it all. Of course Mikey thought about his friends' eyes. All the time. (His own were a similar colour, but somehow, the effect was quite different. Maybe it was Mikey's glasses, or his lack of art.) The boy was beautiful. Like, girl-beautiful. All the time. It just got more obvious when he smiled. Of course it did. In the stretched-out silence, Mikey wondered why he hadn't just noticed it all before.  
Then Gerard exhaled and opened his eyes, and the moment broke. Mikey quickly looked out the window, and then back at the other boy, acutely aware of his face burning.  
There was a small  __ftzz_ _ sound as Gerard butted out his cig against the side of his car and then flicked it to the parking lot cement, unconcerned.  He  glanced at him. “So, uh. A family thing? For real?”  
Mikey swallowed past the lump in throat, nodding. “I really can't get out of it,” he said apologetically. “It'd be-- really cool, to hang out with you, otherwise.”  
Gerard nodded once, sharply. “Okay,” he muttered to himself. He was drumming on the steering wheel with his left hand. “Okay.”  
“ Okay...?”

  
He turned to Mikey properly, chewing on the corner of his lip. (And, oh. His lips.) “I, uh. I made you another drawing. This one,” he held up a piece of sketchbook paper he must've been holding that Mikey didn't notice. “Just, like. The guys said that you'd kept my last one.”  
Mikey took a sharp breath through his nose and made a mental note to kill both Frank and Ray. With poison. And fire. Poison  __and then_ _ fire.  
“ And, and other stuff. Other reasons, I mean, and I thought, maybe. I worked harder on this one,” Gerard was saying, looking at Mikey earnestly. “It's yours, if you want?”  
__Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._ _ “ Uh. Sure,” Mikey didn't-quite stutter.   
Gerard's answering smile was like a hundred-watt bulb, hurting his eyes, brilliant.  
Mikey's hand felt weirdly not-his as he took the paper from his friend and then flipped it over. He pushed his glasses up his nose with numb fingers and blinked, focusing. Oh.  __You should have expected this,_ _ the rational part of his brain pointed out. But he hadn't.

It was a simple drawing, definitely atypical of his friends' style; him and Gerard (both comic-ized) sitting on a curb together, resting their entwined hands on Mikey's knee. Their hair was messy and their lips were the same shade of light red, the same shade as the blush on paper-Gerard's face. They were turned toward each other slightly, wearing identical expressions of what could only be described as 'teenage adoration'. It was obvious that Gerard had indeed worked harder on this drawing: the use of actual colour, for one thing, Mikey's green-brown eyes were bright in the picture, and Gerard's blush was the perfect, delicate shade. And the cross-hatching in the shadows was more smooth; their fingers were well-defined, even as they were tangled together, and the lines that made up their bodies (leaning together at the shoulder, Gerard's right foot overlapping Mikey's left) were sleeker and more generous than the ones in the Titania et Picard picture. It was easy to imagine that seconds before, in the little paper universe, they had been kissing.  
  
Mikey remembered the rough texture of the tree bark-turned-concrete ground in his dream, Gerard's phantom hands in his hair. Still a bit out of his head, he heard himself tell the truth: “It's beautiful, Gee. Like, really beautiful.”  
“Yeah?” Gerard's voice was soft--- and really a lot closer than it had been only a minute ago. Mikey blinked and looked up to see that his friend was suddenly _right there_ , spare inches away from his own face. His breath smelled like nicotine and the dregs of coffee, and something else about him-- his hair, maybe, which now that Mikey couldn't help but think of it did look cleaner than usual-- smelled fruity, like strawberries or apples. His lips were parted just slightly; as Mikey watched, shocked still, he closed his eyes and stayed there, bent across the tiny valley between the front seats. Like he expected a kiss.

 

Fear hit Mikey like the impact from a giant's fist. “It'sjustthat I'm not queer,” he blurted. “Or anything like that.”  
Gerard remained frozen over the aisle, but he opened his eyes, expression resembling a kicked puppy once again. “What?”  
Frank and Ray and their jokes and his mom's mystified disapproval and teacher's at school's offhand hallway remarks and the assholes on the wrestling team and their catcalls and that one really gay kid in freshman year who'd came to class with black eyes more than once; all of them rang through Mikey's brain like tiny detonations. And Gerard –his friend, his best friend since the goddamn third grade--- looked _hurt._ Oh god, he felt like a horrible person, and he usually never said things without thinking about them first but even already his mouth was rattling off without him. “I don't, I don't like you like that, or-- any guy, I just, I like girl's, they're hot. And-- and pretty.”  
Gerard jerked back like he'd been slapped.  
Mikey hunched his shoulders, hand bunching around the drawing that his friend had probably spent careful hours on. “I'm sorry if I, like, if I did something that made you think I was, um, like that, I didn't mean to, I wouldn't just---”  
“Whatever,” Gerard snapped, turning sharply forward. His face had gone paler. “Whatever, let's just go.” He reversed the car and peeled out of the parking lot so fast Mikey almost went through the window.  
When they screeched into Mikey's driveway a minute and a half later, Mikey stumbled out of the car without saying anything. Watching his friend's car power its way down the street, he had no idea what _to_ say. He still had the drawing clutched in his fist.

 

-*-

 

Having spent a good portion of the evening kicking himself, both mentally and physically (his shin was going to have a hell of a bruise), Mikey went to find Gerard at school the next day.

His friend was better at hiding than Mikey expected, but he turned up around lunch leaning against the red back wall of the gym with smoke trailing from his mouth and nostrils. He was wearing headphones around his neck and a huge bulky sweater, even though it was at least 68 degrees out. Fresh-looking cigarette butts littered the ground around his feet. He didn't look up, even though he must've heard Mikey coming toward him over the loose gravel that made up the running track.  
Mikey raked his fingers through his hair and bit his lip before manning up and walking over to his friend. (God, he hoped Gerard was still his friend.) “Hey,” he greeted uncertainly.  
Gerard looked the opposite direction and he didn't say anything, but he did offer Mikey a cigarette.  
As a peace offering? It was unclear. Mikey took it, leaned against the wall next to him, lit up and inhaled the nicotine gratefully. (His own stolen pack had ran out way too fast. He'd been finger-twitchy for a while now.) “Hey, so,” he said, “About yesterday.”  
Gerard continued to look away from him.  
“I just wanted to say I'm, uh, that I didn't mean for it to come out that way. And I won't tell anyone. About you, I mean.”  
“ _About me_ ,” Gerard mimicked him, bitter and sarcastic. “You can tell anyone you want, man; everyone says it already, it won't be anything that'd surprise them. I'm actually telling my folks myself, once I get out of this place, and then I'm going to the city for school. So it doesn't fucking matter either way.” He laughed. “Fuck, maybe I'll beat them to the punch and show up in drag tomorrow!”  
Mikey stared at his feet, face flushing. He had no idea what to say. (His sneakers were covered in grass shavings. It took him a second to get why, and then he realized: it had rained last night, and the janitors always cut the lawn on Tuesday mornings. He'd forgotten.)  
After a few seconds, the boy beside him sighed. “But then what's the fucking point,” Gerard muttered to himself.  
“... I could come over and read the comic you made, if you want,” Mikey offered, looking up.  
Gerard threw his smoke on the ground and stubbed it out with his toe, viciously. “No, no, don't bother. It's a piece of shit, anyhow.”

  
“Hey, don't, I'm sure it was--” Gerard had started walking away across the field, quickly. “Shi--- hey!” Mikey called out belatedly, squishing his cigarette out against the wall. “Hey, wait up!" In a random surge of anger, "I saved you from a giant, you bastard!”  
He actually slowed down, which was surprising in itself. Mikey jogged up to him, holding his glasses on his face with one hand. “I wanted to say--"  
Gerard turned around so fast that Mikey had to literally lean back on his heels to avoid bumping into him, and he still slid half a foot closer than he'd like to on the grass. He could smell the other boy's breath again, and it still smelled like smoke; his lip's were bright pink, like--- like he was wearing lipstick. (Something in Mikey felt indignant at that thought--- the whole night Mikey had cussed himself out for how the previous day; had Gerard just been off kissing some girl? _Sarah_ again?)  
“What,” Gee said shortly, looking Mikey directly in the soul.  
Mikey had planned for this, but the moment itself still made him off-balance and unsure. He hesitated, stuttered. “Uh.”  
“ _What,_ Mikey. Say something or don't.”  
“A lot of people are out in college,” he blurted. “Like, gay people. And, I mean-- you're amazing, you know?” (Because he suspected Gerard didn't. His mom's self-help books said affirmation of a person's awesomeness was important.) He shifted on his feet. “When you're up at school, someone totally cool is going to really like you.” He leaned back a bit, settling into his stance. “That's... that's all I wanted to say.”     
He'd expected Gerard to snort, or maybe ask him if his mom had told him to say that, or stare deeply into his eyes or _something._ Instead, all the other boy did was looked stunned for a second, then smiled unconvincingly and stuck his hands inside the kangaroo pouch of his temperature-inappropriate sweater.“Great,” he mumbled. “Really, 'I'll do better in college', that totally helps with the rejection, dude. I'll remember it.”  
Mikey's stomach sank. “I didn't mean--”  
“It the way it sounded,” Gerard said, rolling his eyes. “I know it, man. I got that. And-- I'll see you around, okay? I gotta go.” He turned on his heel. “And don't fucking follow me this time, okay? You're not, like, a girl in a romantic comedy."  
Guilt sank its heavy poisoned claws into Mikey's gut. “Hey,” he started protesting again, but Gerard just shook his head as he walked away.

  
It felt to Mikey like that moment should have been a freeze-frame in the last scene of a movie. Or like, he should raise his hand in a silent farewell and Gerard would feel it in the Force and raise his too.  
But the end-of-lunch bell would be ringing any second and he couldn't afford to miss another Bio lesson if he wanted to pass the course (and tenth grade). So, with his heart feeling like lead crystal in his chest, he dragged his feet back across the wet school lawn and went inside.

  
///

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... sorry about that. the series does get less saddening from here.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Roll For It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2798474) by [mcr_rockstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcr_rockstar/pseuds/mcr_rockstar), [momiji_neyuki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/momiji_neyuki/pseuds/momiji_neyuki), [RedRomRomance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRomRomance/pseuds/RedRomRomance), [Trixgrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trixgrl/pseuds/Trixgrl)




End file.
